This week, Dave-Dad:
Hi Liam,
Your Big Chill tickets arrived this am.
Dad.
My response to this news is best expressed in the words of Alan Partridge.
JURASSIC PARK!
BLOG
Oscillate Artfully
Wow, has so much time already passed since I promised to write more blog posts? Time flies when you’re having visitors. In fact, I’ve over a month’s worth of thought backlog to transcribe and edit into legible form.
About a month ago, James and I were merrily meandering down Haight Street when we came upon what is probably the best record shop in the world. The experience of walking into Amoeba records for the first time is roughly similar to going downstairs in Blackwells in Oxford. You see the lines of shelves running away and converging on the distant horizon and your mind somersaults to think that there’s so much good stuff out there. There can’t be enough hours in a human life to listen to all the CDs in Amoeba, but if the staff would have let me sleep there I’d have been tempted to try.
I was good; I limited myself to one purchase – and what a purchase! I shelled out eighteen clams for a little cardboard box titled Oscillons from the Anti-Sun. Said box contains three CDs of tracks from Stereolab’s elusive EPs, a DVD of promo videos and live performances, and little CD sleeve sized stickers of their EP covers. All excellent, but most importantly it has the song Fluorescences, which I heard once in 1996 on Mark Radcliffe’s Radio 1 graveyard slot and have wanted ever since. It’s just as good as I remember.
A lot of the early Stereolab stuff I haven’t heard before. Listening to Jenny Ondioline I realised that, odd as it may sound, there are aesthetic similarities between Stereolab and Wilco, especially when you compare the groop’s early stuff to material from Wilco’s latest, A Ghost is Born. There are moments where both bands will build up a tapestry of noise, a repetitive riff, a synthy drone and mechanical percussion, and then they’ll break through this with a pretty melody sung by a modest voice.
And what’s an oscillon? It’s a recent (1996) discovery in the field of physics. Here’s a video of an oscillon in action. Essentially they are surprisingly constant patterns formed by vibrating particles, of great significance to those who study chaos theory.
And who are Stereolab? They’re an oddly retro-futuristic band who often stuff a gamut of musical styles into three-part pop songs. Half of the band are from London, the other half from Paris, and I’m a sucker for their singer, Laetitia Sadier. Imagine Juliette Binoche playing a cooly detatched pop singer and you’re almost there.
More Soon
Although the blog suggests otherwise, I’ve not gone belly-up or been disappeared by Homeland Security. Visits from first James and then Mum and Dave-Dad (as opposed to Duncan-Dad) have eaten up all my time and quite a bit of Courtney’s.
Speaking of Courtney, she’s just walked in the door with two big bottles of my favourite beer (St. Peter’s English Ale, since you ask) to quell the pain of Norwich’s embarrassing 6-0 exit from the Permiership. My big green and yellow bruise is subsiding already.
Play Online Poker!
Today has been comment spam day. I just had to delete about fifty gibberish comments, all linking to an online poker website. Consequently I’ve installed a spam filter. Let me know if your legitimate comments don’t make it past my new security measures.
Coming soon: metal detectors, shoe searches, magic puffer machines which blow your shirt up in search of boobies and, allegedly, traces of explosive dust, and my personal favourite, cavity searches!
Chilled Out
Grrrboooaaaaggghhhh! The Big Chill website is down. We’ve been waiting for it to be back up so we can buy our tickets for about a week. We’ve given up. I’m calling their phone booking line tomorrow morning. Whoop-de-whoop for days off.
Anybody know any more than me about this badness? I hope it doesn’t mean the website collapsed under the weight of demand for tickets, although I doubt that would be the case. It’s not as if it’s as manic as Glastonbury.
Email of the Week 18th-24th April
From Jon:
Fearn and me found a live rat in the bin outside the other day and had to kill it. First I tried hitting it with a pole and then tried smoking it out. Nothing worked so Fearn poured boiling water over it. He’s changed now, has a distant look in his eyes like solider back from Nam.
You can’t let a rat go.
This has a certain essential beauty, I feel. Transcendent almost. Quivering, naked, raw.
The Day of the Cucumber Sandwich (part two)
Picnic Day turned out to be more fun than I thought. Having witnessed a pretty half-arsed St. Patrick’s Day parade in Rochester last year, I’ve been apprehensive about parades. As I’ve discovered from watching student films, there’s little entertainment to be had from watching people walking.
Yesterday I discovered I may have been too harsh in that judgement.
The Day of the Cucumber Sandwich (Part One)
Tomorrow I’m being hauled into work – missing the televised coverage of Crystal Palace vs Norwich – to help Mishka’s deal with the craziness of Picnic Day. Apparently, everyone who has ever lived in Davis returns to the town for the day to watch a parade and a dachshund steeplechase.
I’m charging the camera batteries as I type.
Dead Blog
I really hope this chap does some more updates, but I fear it is a blog as dead as its subjects.
Nil points for spelling and grammar, though. "Mouses," indeed.
Facetiousness: A Poll
In future, should I mark facetious blog posts out with a little [facetious] in the title?
To clear up any misunderstanding that may have occurred after the last post, me and the missus are as perfectly happy as normal, or bumbling along in our own little way, whichever you’d rather imagine.
Must stop now and take my beating. I’ll blog more when I can sit down at the computer again.
Media Career? Think Different
Considering the glut of qualified graduates queuing up for a job in the media, is it any wonder people are getting used? Reading this makes me think that my less conventional approach to breaking into the film and TV industry may actually be the better bet.
‘Exploitation is more widespread than ever’ Media Guardian, 11th April, 2005
For those of you who are unsure exactly what my method is, here’s the lowdown:
- Move as far away from the place you want to work as possible. The other side of the world is a good starting point. If you want a job in London, try moving to the west coast of America.
- Get a job in an industry as far removed from the media as possible. Try food service, in particular, coffee shops. Girls flock to coffee shops.
- Take up writing. Doesn’t matter if you’re any good at it or not. Girls always swoon when they hear the line "I’m a writer," delivered with an English accent; especially stupid ones with lots of money. Target them mercilessly.
- Move in with rich, stupid girl. Live off her like a parasite. Get drunk as often as possible and claim you’re "networking."
- When your rich, stupid girlfriend finally discovers you’re a fraud, break down and cry shamelessly in front of her. Tell her you love her, but you have writer’s block and/or homesickness. This should buy you a couple of weeks to find a second stupid rich girl. Make sure the first one doesn’t dump your stuff out in the street in the meantime.
That’s my method so far. Due to lack of data, I cannot promise it will deliver the desired results, but I feel my big break is just around the corner. It’s a lot more fun than working eighty hours a week for a pittance in London, and I appear to have come just as far by doing so. Here’s to being a Deadbeattm!
Road Trip (again)
When my old webhost deleted my entire site all the pictures went too. At Rev. Rehash’s request I’ve restored all the pictures that accompanied my road trip diary. If you’re really that interested, click here to begin at the beginning.
Email of the Week 11th-17th April
This week, Kelvin:
Oh, last night at about two in the morning, there was a bizarre film about a man without a head, who was worried that his lack of bonce would prove to be a hindrance in his love life, so saved up money to buy a noggin, only to discover, of course, that the love of his life cares not a jot whether he has a head or not, and in fact loves him for who he is.
The first scene I caught as I channel-hopped had the headless one dancing about his poor attic apartment in a tuxedo, Fred Astaire style. I knew immediately that it was French.
Does anyone know what this movie is called and where I can find it?
Film Festival
Davis Film Festival tonight and tomorrow. Lots of shorts, lots of schmoozing. And, thanks to one of my regular caffeine-addicts, I have a free ticket. Get in!
Cycle Karma
Apologies, this is a very Davis-centric post. Rachel, one of my regular coffee shop customers, recently mentioned that she’s riding her bike 100 miles around Lake Tahoe in aid of a young lad with acute lymphocytic leukaemia. This is a big effort, and earns her several hundred Junkopia kudos points.Rachel’s blog, which documents the endeavour, is worth a look, although I’m sure what she really wants is for people to go to the donation page.
Grief Porn
Yes folks, grief porn is the best definition I’ve heard this week.
Email of the Week 4th – 10th April
In a craven attempt to get people to send me more splendidly written email – and so I have more material to fill the blog on slow days – I have decided to blog the wittiest, coolest, funniest sentence/paragraph/section of email I get each week.
This week’s comes from my mate Neil:
Cancelled my psychotherapy session due to cranial fibrillations elicited by last night’s assimilation of a quantity of alcohol toxic to all but the resolutely anaerobic respirers of the amoebic realm. Thus, have time to write sentences so long and ostentatiously verbose as to provoke a green line from my spelling and grammar checker. Currently sweating neat scotch into my dressing gown having only relatively recently attempted verticality.
Friends, readers, you are all fodder.
Lest We Forget
According to Bono he was "the best frontman" the catholic church ever had. Yes, really. Everyone remotely famous has been queueing up to pay similarly ridiculous respects since Karol Wojtyla, the artist formerly known as Pope John Paul II, shuffled off his mortal coil, ran down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.
So, if John Paul II is Top of the Popes, what does the rest of the top ten look like?
- John Paul II (1978 – 2005) – BEST POPE EVER!!!
- St. Peter (32 – 67) – Seminal. The original founding father. Kudos.
- Urban III (1185 – 87) – Introduced hip-hop liturgies and masses. “Was intimate” with the archdeacon of Bath. Killed by the Byzantines in a drive-by shooting, fo’shizzle.
- St. Innocent I (401 – 17) – Honestly didn’t touch the choirboys. Flaunted convention by wearing one glove and "moonwalking" backwards.
- St. Hilarius (461 – 68) – Always had the most whoopee cushions at seminary school. Founder member of the Bonzo Dog Papal Band.
- St. Zephyrinus (198 – 217) – Affectionately known to cardinals as “the old windbag,” this Pope is said to be Tom Jones’ early inspiration.
- St. Simplicius (468 – 83) – A great fan of Kraftwerk. Brought minimalism and moogs to the Vatican. Controversially ousted for delivering the mass in binary.
- Clement XIV (1769 – 74) – No-one ever accused him of being an original thinker, he was, however, a great linedancer.
- Paul III (1534 – 49) – May have been painted by Titian, but by dissolving the monasteries, King Henry VIII of England made him look like a wuss. Listened to a lot of emo.
- Boniface III (607) – Lovely cheekbones, but no stamina. Scored a big hit with his New Romantic version of "Tainted Love."
So there we have it, J-PII comprehensively beats off 2000 years of competition! But was he better than Elvis?
Of course, in the midst of all the fuss and bother about the dead primate, everyone’s forgotten the plight of millions of catholic AIDS sufferers. For the six people who read this site, here’s a quick reminder:
Vatican: condoms don’t stop Aids. The Guardian, 9th Oct 2003.
Vatican in HIV condom row. BBC News, 9th Oct 2003.
And here’s the official Catholic line, in the words of the head of the Pontifical Council for the Family:
All this requires a holistic vision of man and woman, of fidelity in marriage and of sex education, by which the moral aspect of the problem is taken into account. Institutions distributing condoms to children and in public schools are gravely irresponsible. Parents should react, exercising their right to defend their children, so that they are not attacked by this violent type of interference in their world of innocence.
Cardinal Lopez Trujillo on Ineffectiveness of Condoms to Curb AIDS. Catholic Online, 12th Nov 2003.
What are the chances the next doddering septugenarian to wear the funny hat will take a more reality-based approach to the AIDS pandemic?
It’s a good night from me.
And it’s a good night from him.
Goodnight.
Related link: Next in Line. Sunday Herald, 6th Feb 2005.
Web-footed Fascists
I’m well aware that the story has been swishing around the internet for a couple of weeks, which makes it positively prehistoric in terms of modern-day newsworthiness, but the homosexual necrophiliac ducks are still calling to me to post about them. Here’s the story in the Guardian, and here’s the oddly prescient Alan Moore song, the March of the Sinister Ducks (3.1meg mp3 file).
Once again, Alan Moore knows the score.
Guess the Movie
Junkopia kudos to the first person to identify the movie this still is from.
Kelvin and James are not allowed to enter; they can send me smug emails instead.
Wendy’s Gives Customers the Finger
Or one customer, at least.
A woman bit into a portion of a human finger while eating a bowl of chili at a Wendy’s fast-food restaurant in California, health officials said yesterday.
Officials said the fingertip was about 4cm (1.5in) long and had part of a manicured nail. The woman, who asked not to be identified, was able to spit it out, said Martin Fenstersheib, Santa Clara county’s health officer. "She was a bit grossed out, and vomited a number of times," he said.
Does anyone sense a lawsuit coming on?
Despite the visceral impact of this story, it’s nowhere near as shocking as last year’s case against Cracker Barrel, which was found to give poorer service to black customers eating at its restaurants in seven states. Those states? Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia. Yee-hah for the South.
The irony, which may not be apparent to those living outside America, is that "Cracker" is a widespread slang term for poor whites, roughly equivalent to "White Trash" or "Hillbilly." So I suppose it’s not really shocking after all, just sad.
Share and Enjoy
I don’t normally get pant-wettingly excited about movies coming out. Normally the ones I enjoy most are the ones I discover almost by accident. Recently Shaun of the Dead, Hero and Sideways were movies I went to see because I’d heard a little about them and had an inkling they might be my kind of thing. I was keen to see them, but they weren’t exactly highlighted on my calendar months in advance. I can’t tell you release dates for films any more than I can remember anniversaries.
I’ve listened to the radio series; I’ve read all four installments of the book; I can quote the odd line here and there; I regret never tracking down the TV series. The movie is out on April 29th and I’m considering going to the cinema the night it opens. I might even book tickets ahead of time because I almost wet myself earlier today when I saw the trailer.
I understand that some people are getting weak-kneed about some other science fiction/fantasy film. It seems as if they’re in denial of the fact that the two prequels of this movie left them feeling dirty and cheated. This other movie excites me not a jot.
Mundane Snaps (Part One)
A few people have been nagging at me to either send or blog photos of my everyday life: where I live, what Davis looks like, etc. On a sunny day last week I got the camera out and snapped my immediate surroundings. The results are hiding behind the password-protected post entitled "Mundane Snaps (Part Two)." I’ve passworded it just in case.
The magic word is my middle name. No caps.